So I'm flying back from point C to point ({}) and what happens: stuck in airport overnight time. Though the wonderful MSP airport truly has so much to offer in terms of cheap and legal entertainment, I've decided to sit down, drink a coffee I bought from a vending machine (what), and blog about how little there is to do in terms of cheap and legal activities.
Well it all started loooong ago (16 hours), in the distant land of "Point C". I arrived at the airport, Czeched my bags, made friends with the talking hispanic hologram and after all that effort I found out my plane was delayed. So what did I do? Nothing. I sat and did absolutely nothing because I am a boring person.
Anywho... Hopped the flight: an hour late, less than half-full, three seats to myself. I called my friend about details on living in airports and they said it wasn't very fun - of course I begged to differ. I was lost in a fantasy world of eating Saltines and gambling with immigrants. As soon as I landed I would be without nationality and dating myself.
I should have known something was off when I couldn't tell whether we were flying or landed due to the snow, but thoughts of me touching me with boobs occluded such rational thinking. I got off the plane, missed my connection: who'da thunk? It was me... starving, tired, emotionally distraught me against the airport. I thought even odds and skipped off chipper as ever to ask the vile temptress of a concierge how to get the fuck home. She said "Like Oh My God I love you 'cause you supply the best rhymes, since your flow is kinda strange you should sign with Tech N9ne" and then she pointed down a corridor. Mistaken identity? We'll never know. I politely blinked once and then twice more in rapid succession before gallivanting off in the direction of her gesture. Little did I know, the terminal is a big loop and she made me walk >9000 times as far as necessary. Whatevs, I suppose it comes with the territory. I followed a hot pink in a guy shirt all the way to the destination and when I got to the place I was suppose to got, I was met with a line of >9000 people who had all been delayed and rescheduled. That line would have taken at LEAST twenty minutes and I'm not really down for that so I instead opted to peruse the terminal's stores. All closed of them (yeah I counted). Though it didn't really matter because they were all 47 for the night.
With between twelve and twenty-four hours remaining in my most excellent airport live-in, I had to decide exactly what to do with myself. Thinking... Thinking... Got it. I would sit on my computer for practically the entire time because I am a boring person and there are cops on bikes roaming about. Oh, and I had stuff and leaving stuff anywhere in an airport means that it's a bomb. So I was shackled to my stuff and unable to truly experience life as an airport bum. The only points of interest were:
A) Deciding whether or not to steal some wine and get my drank on to christen my living in an airport.
B) Actually getting my flights figured out.
The wine was pretty easily solved. Stealing things when nobody is around is really easy, but bikes are faster than Izaak and stuff was bombs. That meant my longings would remain longings for always :'(
Between A and B came the night, which was pretty cool. Did you know that airports stay on even when they're empty? Talk about holy fucking waste of fucking energy you American idiots! Every store kept its lights on and its music playing despite people being entirely absent from the vicinity for eight hours. Even the moving walkways and elevators stayed on. Also, sleeping was weird. They had pads and pillers for it, but sleeping in public is kind of strange. It's like being in a story of olde where one must actually worry about their belongings during the night and being trampled by migratory individuals in the morning. That and there were these soul stealing, Izaak molesting creatures running about:
(The left one)
They were only about eight inches tall, but super creepy nonetheless. Airplanes run on the stolen souls and dreams of weary travelers. Airlines are fascinating. I found a corner that harbored several members of the US Military and spooned on up for the night.
Present day: I got my flights figured out and am awaiting my next flight (only eight hours to go!), but that was difficult due to the people I was talking to thinking I was in Detroit. Literally face-to-face and they were telling me I was about to fly out of Detroit.
"It says you're in Detroit"
"I'm standing in front of you"
"Hmm... Well let me check. . . No, it says you're in Detroit"
"I'm standing right here, I can reach out and touch you"
"Keep your hands behind the counter"
"Aha!"
"It's a law in Detroit, sir"
"Dammit"
It took quite a bit of convincing and several summoning rituals, but they finally accepted my presence and put me on a flight tonight. Maybe they think I'm currently flying in from Detroit... who knows.
So I'll continue to waste time until then. It hasn't been the dream world I had imagined; I didn't even get the opportunity to tell myself how much I love me. Conclusion: living in airports is boring and expensive. Try a house. Or a refrigerator box, those are nice.
"During the week that I arrived in The United States,
I saw an airport, used a telephone, used a library,
talked with a scientist and
was shown Raezak for the first time in my life"
Philip Emeagwali
Raezak Am.
